Chapter Four

Amos

I hated that Chase was actually a nice guy.

I hated that he was ridiculously hot, with his perfect teeth and sparkly blue eyes and his perfect fucking dimple. I hated that he was actually serious about this production and making it the best he could.

He took his acting craft seriously.

His craft of sitcom acting, mind you—like that was barely one rung higher than reality TV on the ladder of credibility—but still... he was serious about it.

And he was good at it.

He'd make a perfect male lead in a sitcom like Friends or 90210 .

He was made for it.

Or blockbuster movie leading roles for the blue-eyed American dreamboat, like the next Brad Pitt or Austin Butler. That's the kind of actor he was.

I was more of a weird Finn Wolfhard or Keanu Reeves. I could fill the quirky roles like Stranger Things or The Matrix .

Or the serial killer roles like Dexter .

Or yes, James Dean. He was a remarkable actor who never got the chance to explore what he was capable of or show the world his true talent.

And because I'd done a showcase on him, I was labeled a James Dean wannabe. And that wasn't terrible.

Successful and hot weren't bad ways to start. Dead at twenty-four, not so much.

Was James Dean ever a barista? Did he need to bus tables at a college coffeehouse and make drinks with a fake customer-service smile?

I highly doubted it.

Though it was good practice for acting. I just had to act like a good barista who liked people.

That's how I thought of it anyway.

I tied my apron around my waist and ducked in behind the counter, slipping into work mode alongside Mason.

"Hey," he said. He was a senior like me and he'd worked here for as long as I had. Over two years now. He was the type to have his head down and work and not engage in small talk, which was why I liked him.

Working at the Bean Necessities really wasn't that bad. It was close to my dorm. I just had to walk across the road, basically. I was luckier than some. Given I didn't have to commute, I didn't need a car. There were no crazy late nights. Some early morning starts but they weren't the worst.

Plus, I got free coffee and sandwiches with a staff discount.

Not too bad at all.

"How was your day?" Mason asked.

"Pretty good so far. How about you?"

He checked his watch. "I finish in five, so it's getting better every minute."

I glanced around the kinda quiet shop. "You can clock out now if you want. I got this."

He brightened. "You sure?"

Just then, four people came in, loud and... familiar.

Because of course he'd come in here today.

"Damn," Mason mumbled. "Maybe next time." Then he smiled at the guys who'd just walked in. "Hey, what can I getcha?"

Jimmy was at the front. "I'll take an iced Americano."

"I'll have the same, with a turkey sub," the second guy replied. His name was Tate, I was pretty sure. They called him Tater Tot, which was awful.

"Chase." Jimmy gave him a nudge. "Whaddya want?"

Chase was too busy looking at me, apparently.

"Oh," he said, giving his head a bit of a shake, then looking at the menu as if he'd never seen it before. "Uhhh. Yeah, iced coffee, double shot, and a club on rye, thanks. Oh, and a bran square with raspberries and a bottle of water." He rubbed his belly and his eyes caught mine. "I'm hungry."

Christ.

They paid for their order and I started on their drinks while I pretended not to notice how Chase kept looking over at me.

Jimmy gave him a decent elbow. "Dude, the fuck?"

"I'm just looking at something," he replied. "Shut the fuck up."

Tate gave me a quizzical once-over before shooting Chase a what-the-fuck look. I couldn't hear exactly what he said after that but it was clear they were talking about me.

Because Chase had called out to me across the courtyard just half an hour ago and now he was here, turning his head to look my way.

Well, he did say to leave "convincing people he could like me" up to him.

It must have been convincing because his friends were giving him shit.

Though it was more of a "why him?" kind of ribbing.

Like he could never be interested in someone like me.

I was soooo not his type.

But he was putting in some effort to make it look convincing, so maybe I could do the same.

I put their drinks on the end of the counter. "Jimmy."

Of course Chase stood up. "I'll get them," he said, quickly dashing over toward me.

"Which one's mine?" he asked.

"The one with your name on it," I replied.

He grinned. "This is fun, isn't it?"

I noticed over his shoulder that his whole table was watching us. So I gave Chase half a smile that was more glare than pleasant, and I leaned over the counter so it would look to our audience like we were having a private conversation.

"You might wanna take it down a notch," I murmured, "or they'll think you're having a medical episode."

Chase laughed and I rolled my eyes, turning back to my work while he took the drinks back to his table.

Mason clocked out and it was busy enough for me that Chase didn't try to intervene, though I did catch him looking my way a few times.

Jeez. Dial it down.

A while later, I just happened to look up one time to see them leave. Jimmy gave Chase a shove out the door and they laughed as they headed across the street. And I managed to finish my shift and get back to my room and not give Chase Soria one more thought.

Not even when I had my nose in my psych textbook for most of the night. And not even at breakfast... because I definitely didn't look for him.

And I most certainly wasn't disappointed when he never showed.

I did have a sociology of theater class that was an actual distraction because, for one whole hour, I didn't give Chase Soria, or his character Dominic, one thought.

It was a blessed sixty minutes because as soon as I walked out of the lecture hall, I heard a very familiar voice yell out to me.

"Hey, Amos, wait up!"

I turned to see him give his buddy one of those cringey bro-handshakes, before he jogged over to me while his friend squinted in my direction, confused.

"I didn't know you'd be here," he said, far too cheerfully. "We got preproduction now, right?"

I gave his buddy a pointed look, where he'd now sprouted a few friends, and they were all looking at us, mystified. "They're about to stage an intervention."

Chase laughed and, completely ignoring them, began walking to the rehearsal hall. "They'll be fine. They'll get over it."

"Am I that big of a leap from your norm?" I asked, kinda joking, kinda not.

"Well, I've never dated an emo before."

I stopped walking. "An emo?"

He gestured to my clothes. "Rage Against the Machine tee-shirt, which I like, by the way. Black jeans and black Chucks. What would you call it?"

"This is my grab-what-the-fuck-ever look. Tomorrow will be whatever's-left-before-laundry-day look. I wasn't aware it was a whole identity."

"Is everything you own black?"

I didn't even have to think about that, so I sighed instead. "What's your point?"

"Nothing. It's just your vibe. I like it."

"And not everything I own is black. I do own some... gray."

Chase laughed. "Right. So do you like Rage Against the Machine, or you just into the merch?"

Into the merch. God help me.

"I do like them. Their political analogy of domestic and foreign policies of the government is insightful."

He made a face. "Isn't... isn't it just music? Like heavy metal kind of music?"

I stopped walking again and gave him a serious what-the-fuck look, then because I wasn't even going to begin that whole tirade, I settled for an eye roll and a sigh, then kept walking.

I got to the door and held it open for him, gesturing for him to enter before me. "People with zero concept of irony and appropriation first, please."

He laughed, and I had to wonder if there was anything I could possibly say that would offend him. I'd always known he was a smiley kind of guy, that everyone loved him, that he was easygoing and friends with everyone.

Everyone except me, that is.

"So do your friends think you've lost your mind?" I asked, sliding my gear onto a table.

Chase grinned at me. "How good am I? How convincing was I in the coffee shop yesterday?"

I conceded a nod and I even almost smiled. "I was leaning toward overkill, but they certainly noticed."

He laughed. "They noticed, all right. And I got twenty questions about us."

"And?"

"And what?" He shrugged. "I'm playing it so cool. I just said we got talking in class and you were kinda cool."

"And they clearly don't believe you."

He smirked. "They will. I'm a good actor, remember?"

Hm. Yeah. The way he was checking me out and calling out to me across the courtyard... yeah, he was a good actor.

"Okay, teams," Deirdre said, walking in. She wore gray tights with a gray tunic, but her glasses, headband, and lipstick were all bright orange. Oh, and her shoes. Let's not forget those.

"Quick. Call Ronald McDonald," Chase mumbled beside me, as if he'd read my mind. "See if he's missing his shoes."

I choked down a laugh, which of course Deirdre saw. "Excellent, two volunteers," she said. "Amos and Chase, you're up."

Up for what ?

"Come to the front," she said, waving us forward impatiently.

Chase and I both walked to the front of the room and stood beside her. "Preproduction workshops are important to foster a relationship between your characters to make it believable to the audience. Now your characters, Dominic and Elijah, have been together for a year. So you will be comfortable with each other, touching, holding hands, hugging. Being in each other's personal space, right?"

Chase nodded and I shrugged. "Right."

I guess.

"Soooo," she said, as if we were slow on the uptake. "Maybe stand a little closer."

With considerable effort, I resisted sighing.

But we shuffled a little closer to each other.

Deirdre looked at us as if we were props that didn't quite look right. Then she grabbed Chase's hand and put his arm around me, then made him half back-hug me, with his chin on my shoulder.

"Relax into it," she said. "Shake your shoulders, let go of the tension."

I tried, even though I wasn't relaxed because Chase's hands were on me and he smelled so good.

"Okay, within two weeks, you need to make it look like this is as natural as breathing," Deirdre said. "Try holding hands."

Well, holding hands was easy.

Still awkward but not as much.

"Now I want everyone to do this with your partner," Deirdre said. "Yes, you guys too," she said to Phoebe and Jess. "Best friends can hold hands. "

The other couples stood up, all couples holding hands.

We tried a few exercises, walking holding hands, sitting holding hands, laughing at how ridiculous it was. Then facing each other holding hands, standing a foot apart, then standing closer, enough for our bodies to almost touch, now not really laughing at all. It was strangely intimate.

But after about twenty minutes, it almost felt natural. Except it was Chase Soria...

"Okay," Deirdre said. "Now face each other, holding both hands. And I want you to just look at the other person. I want eye contact. It might be awkward to begin with and that's fine. This production will require levels of trust between you. This will help foster that."

So I stood there, holding Chase's hands in mine, and stared at him.

At his perfect face and his pretty blue eyes. At his... not-so-straight nose, at his slightly uneven eyebrows.

"Your eyes are really dark," he said. "Like I can hardly tell where your iris and pupils start or end."

Oh.

I hoped I didn't blush.

"Your face isn't symmetrical," I said, trying to play it cool. "I always thought you had a perfect face but it's really not."

He snorted. "Gee, thanks."

"You have an old scar on your cheekbone. It's very faded." I'd never noticed it before.

He nodded. "You know how your parents used to say don't run with scissors ?" He shrugged. "Well, don't run with scissors. Not even safety scissors in pre-K. "

I smiled at that. "Do you always do what you're told not to do?"

He flashed me that Hollywood smirk. "Every chance I get."

I rolled my eyes, trying to remain immune to his charms.

"Why do you roll your eyes so much?"

"It's less rude than saying ‘oh for fuck's sake' out loud."

Chase laughed. "Yet the emphasis is much the same."

"That's why I do it."

"So you always thought I had a perfect face?"

God, I was hoping he'd missed that.

"I used to, yes. Until I saw it close up."

"Ouch." He was hardly offended. In fact, by that damn smirk, I'd say he liked it. "So define perfect."

"Generic Hollywood."

Now he wasn't smirking. He made a sad face. Maybe even offended. "Ouch!"

I shrugged. "It's the whole boy-next-door thing you have going on."

"It's generic?"

I nodded. "Pretty much. In a Brad Pitt kind of way."

He turned his head, looking to the wall instead. "I'm trying to decide if I should be offended by that."

I squeezed his hand, kinda pulling on it so he'd look at me again. "If we were characters from The Breakfast Club , you'd be Emilio Estevez."

"And you'd be Judd Nelson," he shot back. "No, you'd be the goth chick."

"Her name is Ally Sheedy, and that is a compliment, so thank you. "

Chase stared at me. Kinda glared. I liked that I got under his skin. Then he sighed, annoyed. "Her makeover in that movie was a travesty."

"Agreed."

"And I wouldn't be Emilio Estevez," he went on. "I'm not a jock."

"But you're not a geek or nerd either."

"So I'd be Molly Ringwald?"

"Well, princess, if the tiara fits."

He growled at me, rightfully annoyed now, but it faded into a smile. "I wasn't aware insults were part of this semester's production."

"I think your character Dominic personally loves it," I said. "Pretty sure he loves that Elijah takes none of his shit and doesn't care about the popularity game."

He snorted. "Is that right?"

"Yep. Lucky for Dominic, Elijah's love language is snark and sarcasm."

"You're just saying that because you want to be able to be an asshole to me."

I cracked a smile. "Correct."

"Ah, boys," Deirdre said.

Both me and Chase turned to find everyone staring at us, no longer holding hands.

Oh.

We'd missed something.

I dropped Chase's hands and took a step back, ignoring the smiles from the others.

"Okay, now we're going to move into group bonding exercises," Deirdre said. "I want everyone to form a circle."

Oh great .

I hated these things.

I would've preferred to be holding hands with Chase doing one-on-one stuff than group stuff. Group bonding activities felt a little too kumbaya for me.

But we did what Deirdre instructed. Holding hands as a group and doing breathing and yelling exercises. Basic acting stuff. But it was a good way to end the first session.

We took a break, grabbed a drink, not really getting any time to chat—thank god.

"Right, guys," Deirdre said. "No time to waste. Because now we're going to be doing some intimacy exercises."

Intimacy exercises. With Chase Soria.

Fuck.

My.

Life.